A Re-Acquaintance of Disaster
by funkytoes
Summary: Her elder sister claimed it was impossible for any young lady not to fall in love with the son of the steward, but Finduilas was determined not to agree. After all, Denethor II was stuffy, proud and boring, and rude to boot. After a fateful misunderstanding, she was determined to despise the man for the remainder of her days, falling in love with him had Not been part of the plan.
1. Chapter 1

Finduilas sat up, blinking against the drowsiness that still gripped her. She had gone to bed late the night before-having spent an exhausting day sailing with Imrahil. Naturally, that was planned, though her younger brother had no complaints. Neither were particularly interested in playing host to the stuffy son of the Steward.

Though her sister claimed he was the most handsome man she had seen, which was no doubt influenced by his future title, Finduilas had barely seen the man, and the last time she had ever spoken to him was when she was a small child, the last time she visited Minas Tririth.

Her eyes, adjusting to the dark, drifted to the window. Even with the shutters closed against the heavy night-sea winds, she could hear the waves against the shore, and felt a tug within her.

She would get a scolding from her mother, and an even worse one from Ivriniel, if she was caught. She had already received a scolding from her elder sister two days' prior for "prancing around barefoot like some kind of hooligan."

Pah.

Let her parents and sister play host. Finduilas had more important things to do. Slipping out of bed, she quickly walked to the balcony, and pulled the door open. Immediately, cool, damp winds hit her face, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the rough scent of salt and brine and old shells. She closed the doors behind her as she left her room, walking to the edge of the balcony.

With expertise that only practice could give, she slid over the railing and began the careful descent down the trellis, until she was able to reach the balcony nearly directly below hers. That was the best way to sneak out of the palace... through the guest wing that was often empty of occupants.

With a light grunt, she landed, and shivered, wishing she had brought her shawl. But it was too late now and the palace staff would soon be waking to their duties, if not already.

The doors to the guest bedroom opened with a slight creak, and she hoped that no one in the adjacent rooms could hear her as she closed them behind her and began to blindly sneak through the room. Having passed through this room nearly every morning for a number of years, unless the room was occupied by the occasional guest, it was not a difficult feat to reach the door.

Of course, when she had asked her sister, who had been in charge of the room assignments, whether or not this particular room would be filled with a guest, she had not accounted that her sister might have _changed_ her mind without consulting her. As she reached for the handle to the door, she felt a large hand cover her mouth, the sting of a knife against her liver, and a rough voice whisper in her ear, "Is it common for the maids of the Prince to traipse in through a window in nothing but their nightdress?"

Already frozen, with both fear and the rage of being manhandled in such a way, Finduilas said nothing, for the man's hand was still covering her mouth. After a moment, the man stepped back, removing his hand, and drawing away the knife, but kept it at the ready. "I apologize," she said. "I did not realize this room was occupied."

She turned to face the man, but with the barely dawning light behind him, she could not see his face clearly. Squinting slightly, she saw sharp features, and clear grey eyes looking back at her suspiciously.

"I have been on the balcony," he said. "How did you get in here?"

"I climbed."

He frowned. "For what reason?"

"To get inside the room."

"For what _reason?"_ he asked again, his patience clearly thinning.

"To get out of this room," she replied blandly.

He watched her, and she could sense an air of incredulity about him. She knew he must be a member of the Stewards son's traveling party. Perhaps he was a servant or friend. Suddenly she remembered Ivriniel commonly vocalizing fear that Finduilas would cause some scandal, and she shrank against the door. "So," she said, reaching for the handle, but froze again when the man gripped the knife tighter. "Will you not let me go?"

"You're not a maid," he said, finally. "A maid would not dare disturb my rest, nor would she climb in through the balcony like a jungle rat."

"I'm not a rat," she said irritably. "And you are scaring me, holding that knife as if _you_ would dare gut an innocent woman."

The man nearly dropped his knife at that, and exhaled through his nose in irritation, but lowered the hand that was holding the knife. It was then that she realized they _both_ were wearing nothing but nightclothes. Flushing slightly, she forced her eyes to look at his face.

"Then who are you?" he asked. "A spy? Thief? Assassin?"

"Evidently not, as any spy or assassin would know better than get caught by a lumbering ass like you," she retorted.

"And who _was it_ who was caught, and who did the catching?" he asked, sounding amused. "If I recall, I was woken by your own _lumbering."_

 _"_ Well it seems _I_ was right about the being an ass part," she bit back. "Now, please let me leave."

"Perhaps I should call for the guard," he said, musingly. "Let them decide what to do with a thief."

"No!"

He looked down at her, unimpressed.

"I..." she sighed, hanging her head. "I'm sorry, but I usually sneak through this room to get out of the palace without being seen." She looked down at her hands. Soon the servants would be going about their tasks, and she would not get the chance to swim by herself until tomorrow morning, if she was able to, since this mongrel of a man seemed to be residing in this room now.

He stepped closer, "You seem familiar," he said, "Have we met before?"

"No," she said, though she shared the sentiment. He did seem rather familiar, perhaps she had seen him the last time she visited Minas Tirith. But that was many years ago, as she did not like to stray far from the sea for long.

"Well," he said, stepping back, "I doubt you are much of a threat, so I will not bar the way. But I will speak to the head of the household to warn their female staff to be more dignified." He looked her up and down, and she felt color seep into her neck and ears, as she remembered again that she happened to be standing before him in nothing but her nightdress.

"Please do," she said, reaching for the handle and opening the door. "I hope I have the pleasure of never seeing you again."

He let out a short laugh, and, burning with embarrassment and the surprise of the whole situation, she entered the hall and closed the door behind her. She exhaled slowly, before quickly making her way to the side corridor that would lead to beach.

 **HHHHH**

She gave out a huff of frustration, swimming as fast as she could. She usually enjoyed a stroll on the beach and dip in the water, but now she needed to work off her ire.

How dare that man—and how dare Ivriniel place him in the _one_ bedroom that Finduilas requested not be filled. No doubt her sister did it specifically to irk her.

She climbed out of the water, running up the beach while squeezing water from her long, dark hair. She only hoped that man would not recognize her, when they inevitably saw each other again. She would not be able to bear the humiliation. And what would Lord Denethor think? If his friend told him that a strange girl snuck into his bedchamber and turned out to the Prince's daughter?

It would be the end of her.

She snuck through the palace, trying not to drip too much salt water on the marble floors, and now wishing she had brought something to dry herself off with. But naturally, she had forgotten.

She was about to reach the staircase, when she heard voices—male voices, one of which belonged to her father. Another was familiar. Where had she heard that voice before?

Footsteps, and she darted for the stairs, before she heard her father say, "My, Findi, what a state you are in."

She looked up to see her father standing next to a man who looked to be in his mid or late thirties, though as with her own family, appearances could often be deceptive.

"Lord Denethor, I believe you know my daughter, Finduilas," her father said to the man. "Though I would have preferred you not become reacquainted in such a manner."

He was handsome, just as handsome as Ivriniel often described, noble, fierce with a touch of ice. But his good looks were not what caused her to freeze with shock.

Naturally, in faithfulness to the disaster that this morning was turning into, he was the same mongrel of a man who had caught her sneaking through his bedchamber.

 **HHHHH**

To be continued...

Might as well post this story over here as well :)


	2. Chapter 2

She must have looked like like a fool—or a harlot—standing there in nothing but a nightdress, staring open mouthed and wide eyed at her father and the man standing next to him.

She hated that Ivriniel was right—he was _very_ handsome. Much more handsome than the early light had allowed her to realize this morning. To his credit, the man was pointedly looking away from her, a stony expression on his face. He had seen her—their eyes had met momentarily, and she knew he had recognized her as the shamefully clad woman who had snuck through his bedchamber and woken him up. She looked down at herself, his cheeks flushing at the realization that now, especially, little must be left to his imagination.

"Ah—Denethor," her father said, nodding to the room he and the son of the steward had left, "Let us go back and let my daughter escape to tidy herself up."

Denethor nodded curtly, before turning abruptly and walking back to the room he had come from. Her father turned his gaze back to her, a smile threatening his lips. "Dare I ask—?" he began.

"No!" she darted up the steps. She managed to reach her rooms before anyone else saw her—but she knew that the damage was done. Her adventurous, unconventional father was not particularly perturbed with her morning swims, and so she was confident her mother and Ivriniel would not hear from _him_ that she had snuck out yet again. And even if they never found out, he did not know her prior re-acquaintance with Lord Denethor.

For that was where the trouble lay.

What must the son of the steward think of her now? She closed the doors to her bedchamber and took in a heavy breath.

"Oh!" she sprang forward with a start when a loud knock was heard on the door behind her, and called out, "Yes, who is it?"

"Findi," a stern voice said from behind the doors. "Are you awake?"

Ivriniel.

" _Just_ ," Finduilas called back. "Why, what is the matter?"

There was a huff behind the door, and Finduilas knew she was receiving one of Ivriniel's infamous glares. "Lord Denethor, requested last night that he be shown around the city and surrounding beaches."

"Ah," Finduilas looked at her vanity table and sighed—her hair was a tangled mess, and she smelled like seaweed and salt water. She would need a bath before she was completely presentable. "Well, bring Lady Vashna."

"She has a cold—and mother has duties here," Ivriniel voice sounded tense. "It wouldn't _do_ for me to be with him on my own, Findi. It wouldn't be proper."

Finduilas began to yank her brush through her hair—wishing her maid would arrive early so that she could get ready without Ivriniel banging down the door. But of course, her maid usually arrived for duty an hour before breakfast, not first thing in the morning. "I'm _not_ going with you, 'Vri," she said.

"Why not?"

She could hear the handle of the door creak slightly as it turned, and Finduilas turned in her seat and watched, aghast, as Ivriniel opened the doors and stepped inside. She saw her sister wrinkle her nose as she looked around the messy room. "The staff should get a pay cut," she said disdainfully. "Why do you insist on letting them keep it this way?"

"I like it this way," Finduilas said dismissively.

"Still, it's so unbecoming of a princess—what—" her sister had finally looked at Finduilas. " _Findi_ , did you go out swimming again? _What_ did Mother tell you? You're not to sneak out while Lord Denethor and his companions are here…" Ivriniel pursed her lips. "Tidy yourself up and don't be late for breakfast," she ordered. "Mother has already decided you would accompany us on Lord Denethor's tour."

Finduilas nodded, and after Ivriniel swept out of the room, her head sank into her hands with a long groan.

 **HHHHH**

His eyes were piercing. Even without looking in his direction, she knew instinctively that he was looking in hers. Finduilas slowly chewed her toast, hoping that at some point he would look away from her—She knew she would get questioned by Ivriniel and her mother later as to the reason the son of the steward seemed fixated on _her_ this morning, when they had seemingly 'just met.'

She swallowed, and looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and she raised her eyebrows in a form of resistance.

Her father coughed slightly, before breaking the tense silence. "Lord Denethor—we are all so sorry your sisters were unable to make the trip… I do hope that they are in good health?"

Slowly, Denethor tore his gaze from Finduilas and looked at Adrahil. "They are in excellent health, thank you," he answered. "They send their regards, and regrets to be unable to visit."

"Well, of course, they have their own families, don't they?" Ivriniel said, speaking up. "It's completely understandable that they could not make such a trip. Of course," she added, smiling adoringly at Denethor, "I do miss them—I cannot wait until my next visit to Minas Tirith and be able to see them again. And I miss Minas Tirith greatly, as well. I daresay Minas Tirith is the most beautiful city there is in all of Gondor. Perhaps in all of Middle Earth…" she trailed off, a bit of wistfulness on her face.

He nodded, though instead of returning her smile he looked back at Finduilas. Finduilas stiffened slightly, as his icy grey eyes looked intently at her face. "And your impressions of Minas Tirith, Lady Finduilas?"

"I'm afraid I have not visited it often," she replied. "Not since I was a child."

"You have not been ill, I hope?" he asked, though there was hardly any discernible concern in his voice.

"Oh no," she replied, "I have been the peak of health." She paused, as if thinking deeply. "There have been many chances for me to visit the city—but… I'm afraid I just could never be bothered to go. I'm afraid I don't share the same sentiment as my sister."

"Finduilas," her mother interjected sharply. "I apologize, Lord Denethor, Finduilas is never quite herself first thing in the morning."

"I wonder," he said, before taking a bite of his own breakfast. Finduilas squinted slightly at him, wondering what exactly he was thinking. She had hoped that his manner this early morning when they met—the second time—would mean that he would also ignore her for the rest of his visit. But she found, much to her dislike, that he had spent most of breakfast studying her.

She set her jaw, and began to eat her own breakfast as well.

 **HHHHH**

Finduilas was never truly impressed with the gardens of the palace. Her love was for the sea—not the flowers and manicured shrubs that made up Ivriniel's hobby. "You see, they don't quite grow this far south—not well, at least—but I've managed to have quite the expansive collection…" Ivriniel was telling Denethor, who looked mildly interested, at best.

Finduilas hung back, losing her mind with boredom, and wondering how much longer until Ivriniel was satisfied with Denethor's presence. She closed her eyes, rocking onto the back of her heels, listening to the distant roar and dance of the wind and waves against the shore… "I—what?" she asked dumbly, when she realized someone had spoken to her.

Denethor and Ivriniel looked at her oddly, before Ivriniel laughed and said, "My sister is not quite herself this morning—My, how scattered your mind is, Findi. Perhaps it would be best for you to rest for a short while."

"I'm fine," Finduilas replied, sending 'Vri a short glare. "Your question, My Lord?"

"I asked if you were partial to gardening," he asked.

"Oh no," she said. "I'm afraid I destroy every green thing I touch."

"Yes," Ivriniel said musingly. "I'm afraid Finduilas has only a love for the sea."

Denethor raised an eyebrow. Finduilas quickly looked away, lifting up her chin and knowing he was remembering this morning—and most likely assumed there were other things she loved, besides the sea. _What a horrible man,_ she thought. _To think her, a lady of Gondor, capable of…_ She turned and saw one of the Lord Denethor's companions approaching them—two, in fact.

Ivriniel gave out a small noise of complaint, before hurriedly making her way towards Finduilas. "Please distract them," she whispered in Finduilas' ear. "Keep them company with conversation."

"Scandalous," Finduilas whispered back. She snickered when 'Vri gently and discretely swatted her with her fan. "My Lords," Finduilas said, smiling at them. "How are you this fine morning?"

The men stopped before her, glancing at Denethor, before smiling at her. They bowed, before addressing their lord. "Lord Adrahil requests your presence," they told him, "After you are finished with your tour."

Denethor had the gall to look relieved, though it seemed to escape Ivriniel's notice. "Though I am regretful," he turned to smile at Ivriniel, who preened like a peacock at the attention, "I am sure that your father would not interrupt your tour if not for a good reason."

"Of—of course," Ivriniel said, her face falling slightly, "Please let me know when you are free and I would be… more than happy to give you the finished tour."

He gave her a tight smile, bowed, and walked towards his two companions. He paused in front of Finduilas, turning to face her. "Lady Finduilas," he said, with a without so much as a nod, before following his companions back to the palace.

"Oh!" Finduilas exclaimed. "I've _never_ met a man so—so _rude."_

Ivriniel whipped out her fan. "Oh, please don't be daft, Findi," she said. "He's the future Steward of Gondor, he's allowed to be as rude as he likes." Finduilas glanced at her sister in exasperation, and saw her sister fanning herself in earnest, and knew that Ivriniel was just as ruffled as Finduilas was at the lord's abrupt exit.

"Well, that's no excuse," Finduilas finally said, crossing her arms. "I can't abide the man," she said, bitingly, before heaving a breath and starting towards the palace. The man was truly despicable. Finduilas had half a mind to…to… smack him in the face. But that would cause a grave incident that Dol Amroth might not recover from—so she resolved to go for a brisk walk.

Muttering angrily to herself, she rounded a corner, about to leave the gardens, when she heard voices in a nearby path—whomever was speaking was blocked by a large shrub. Curiosity got the better of her, and she took a step closer, cocking her head. That voice was familiar… but where had she heard it before?

"But, my lord…" the man's voice said. "Your father explicitly said—"

Ah! That was where she knew the voice… he was one of the two companions who had 'rescued' His Lordship from her sister and her's company. She made a face as Denethor began to speak. "I know what my father said—but now that I am here, I find myself entirely uninspired."

She blinked. Uninspired? Did he come here to _paint_? What could he possibly be uninspired about?

"But, my lord…" the second man said. "Surely you do not intend to return to Minas Tirith after just one day—"

"Of course not," Denethor's voice was thin with impatience. "I will stay the month promised… but I daresay I shall not be leaving with a wife."

Finduilas opened her mouth and clamped it shut to keep from dispelling a noise of shock. A wife? Did he come here to seek out a _wife?_ Horrified, she realized just who were at the top of his possible list of options. She could understand his disinterest in _her,_ but to brush off Ivriniel like that… And he already knew her from her visits to Minas Tirith! Which meant…

The 'uninspired' part was about the other daughter of Adrahil. About _her_ …

She felt a cold rush of shame and humiliation wash over her, leaving her with a bland taste in her mouth.

"I know Lady Ivriniel can be a bit much… but perhaps her younger sister?" the man said. "You know your father wishes to join Adrahil's house with his own…"

"As much as I find Lady Ivriniel bothersome, she is heavens above her sister," Denethor cut in. "That girl is not suitable to be any wife, let alone a stewards wife."

Finduilas' mouth dropped open again.

"But you hardly know her," his companion replied, sounding a bit panicked. "Surely, if you got to know her…?"

"I've become well acquainted with Lady Finduilas," Denethor replied. "As much as I respect Adrahil and his friendship, I cannot abide marrying one of his daughters, no matter the pressure of my father. The elder is cumbersome and the younger too… _indecorous,_ to be a suitable wife."

Feeling sick to her stomach, Finduilas slunk away, and broke into a run when she reached a safe distance. Her eyes stung as she entered the palace and headed towards her bedchamber. She had never met such a terrible man—to say those things about her, and about Ivriniel! She wished she had the power to enact revenge for his cruel and dismissive words.

Odd—for she never even considered for a moment that she might want to _marry_ the son of the steward, but even so. His words cut through her like ice, leaving her feeling empty and bereft. But quickly, that feeling was replaced with indignation. _She was unsuitable_ to be the wife of a steward? To be any man's wife?

She scoffed, looking out one of the tall windows in her bedchamber to the sea outside.

He would regret those words.

 ** _HHHHH_**

To be continued...?

Findi has a flair for the dramatics ;)

Anyway, let me know if you'd like to read more!

Thanks for reading so far!


	3. Chapter 3

"By the _Valar,_ Findi, didn't it occur to you that the guest chambers might all be filled?" Imrahil asked, from his desk where he worked.

"Of course," Finduilas said. "But I had thought _that_ particular bedroom was _unoccupied_. It _never_ occurred to me that _Denethor_ might be residing in it. I thought he was put in the Seashell Room."

"Apparently it smelled," Imrahil said, pausing in his writing. He turned in his seat to gaze at Finduilas. "He didn't…take advantage of you, did he?"

"Not exactly," she said, crossing her arms. "But he was still… forceful. I was frightfully afraid."

Imrahil narrowed his blue-grey eyes, so much like their father's. Unlike her elder sister and younger brother, Finduilas had inherited the black eyes of their mother. She sighed. "He did not take advantage of me—but I was still frightened. I was wearing nothing but my shift! I was sure he would…" she shivered slightly, hugging herself tighter. "More than anything, I am embarrassed. Humiliated. Not to mention I overheard him speaking to his men this afternoon and…"

"And what?" Imrahil asked.

"You wouldn't want to know," Finduilas replied.

"Nothing… unseemly?"

"Of a sort," Finduilas replied. At the outraged look on Imrahil's face, she said. "He said Ivriniel was too boring to marry."

"Well, that certainly isn't surprising," Imahrail said. "Though clearly below the belt. Wait…" he frowned. "Marry? Is that why he came here, to find a _wife_?"

"Oh—I don't know," Finduilas said. "But regardless, I doubt Ivriniel is on the top of his pecking list."

"And what about you?" Imrahil asked carefully.

"He said I was too ' _indecorous_ ' to marry, and that I was 'unsuitable to be any man's wife.'"

"He said _what?"_ Imrahil asked, eyes widening. "How _dare_ —"

Finduilas shook her head. "You can't challenge him, Immy. He's the son of the steward—to be completely honest, I can understand why his father wants him to marry 'Vri or I, but…" she shook her head. "I won't do it. I won't marry him."

"Looks like you won't have to make the choice," Imrahil said. "But still… I always thought Denethor to be a decent sort of chap. This is… well, my opinion of him has certainly plummeted."

"Indeed," Finduilas said, sitting down heavily. "I'm not sure what I will do."

"Surely he did not say it to anyone with a propensity for gossip?" Imrahil asked.

"No, just to his men," Finduilas said. "But the point is that I cannot abide my reputation being slandered even in secret."

"Nor can I," Imrahil said firmly. "What should we do?"

Finduilas narrowed her eyes. "I want to make him eat his words," she said. "Regret them beyond all reckoning."

Imrahil raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. "I know," she said, laughter in her voice. "Too dramatic as always. But the things he said about me—if anyone found out, I'd be ruined! At least this way I could have some fun without— _before_ things hit the mud."

Imrahil nodded slowly. "You could always… make him _literally_ regret his words."

"What?" she turned to look at her brother, before letting out a surprised laugh. "You mean—make him _want_ to marry me?"

Imrahil nodded and shrugged. "It would be, in essence, the perfect revenge. Then you can turn him down and _he'd_ be the one scorned."

Finduilas sat down heavily on Imrahil's bed. "That is a thought," she said. "And it would… it would… be quite satisfying. And there's no chance of me falling in love with _him_ in the process—because… well, he's _him._ I could never be fond of someone who thought _tax_ and _legislations_ were the height of interesting conversation."

Imrahil smirked, and said, carefully, "So… when do you think you'll _have_ Lord Denethor begging for your hand?"

"If I do at all, you mean?" Finduilas asked, turning to look at him with disdain. "I say by the time he leaves to return to Minas Tirith, I will have successfully made him fall in love with me—or at least, decide that I am worthy of being his wife."

"'Vri will be heartbroken," Imrahil pointed out.

"She can have him, _after_ I've turned him down," Finduilas pointed out. "Besides, she's rather fond of that other bloke—Lord Teira. She would happily marry him as well—it's just Denethor is a shinier object of affection."

Imrahil shrugged. "Well, be careful, Findi."

She grinned at him, and stood up, walking to her brother's door. "I'll see you at supper," she said.

She quickly descended the steps, turning a corner letting out a shriek when she nearly collided with none other than…

…Denethor himself.

She stumbled away from him, slipping in her bare feet and nearly landing on her rear, if Denethor had not grabbed her by the arm arm and held her steady. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking concerned.

Without thinking she yanked her arm out of his grasp, and straightened, feeling her face heat up in humiliation. "I am fine," she said, straightening her skirts. "I…" she realized with a shock that he was looking with disapproval at her feet. Her _bare_ feet. She quickly tucked them under her skirts, out of sight. "I am sorry, Milord. Excuse me…"

She made to go around him, and just when she thought she was in the clear, she heard him call out her name. "A moment, Lady Finduilas."

She stopped, turning to face him. "Yes?" she asked, keeping her face passive.

"I did not get a chance to formally… apologize," he said, looking at her sternly but with a faint sense of apology. "For… imposing myself upon you this morning. I did not realize you were Adrahil's daughter."

She set her mouth into a thin line. "I see," she said. "So you would have felt no remorse on attacking me if I were anyone _but_ a lord's daughter?"

His face dropped its passive look, and a shocked expression replaced it. "Attack—?"

"Of course," she continued. "I can hardly expect a young lord who is accustomed to getting and getting away with whatever he wants to understand the fear every woman has—of…masculine violence."

His eyes widened, and a rosy color tinted his cheeks. "I assure you," he said, "I had no intention of—"

"Of course, you had no _intention,_ " Finduilas continued airily, brushing him off. "Most men have no _intention_ , or at least _claim_ to have had none."

Denethor stared at her, and Finduilas suddenly remembered her mission. Cursing at herself inwardly for mucking it up already, she opened her mouth to apologize for her abrasive words, but Denethor spoke first.

"I apologize, my lady," he said, looking surprisingly remorseful. "I did not even realize that you were a woman last night—I had merely thought you were a thief or an assassin. Though that does not excuse my actions towards you. I assure you, I had no intention of harming you, but I… know that you must have been afraid. You were at my mercy and I did not handle the situation, then or after, with much grace."

Surprised at his thoughtful words, and the fact that he seemed to have meant them, Finduilas found _herself_ with no words. Blinking rapidly, she said, "It is all forgotten, my lord. I know that you meant me no harm—in fact, I'm sure you thought it was your own life that was in danger. I should have checked to make sure that no one was in that room before entering."

Denethor expelled a soft breath. "What were you doing in my room?" he asked, finally.

"I was—" Finduilas looked around, feeling herself a little embarrassed. "I was going for a swim," she said, her face flushing.

Denethor blinked in surprise. "A swim?" he asked. A look of realization dawned on his face. "I see," he said, amused. "That explains the state you were in early this morning."

Finduilas blushed, wishing she still had her fan to breeze her face. "Yes," she said. "I don't usually go about in such disarray."

It was a lie, of course. Out of Adrahil's three children, Finduilas was the one most often found in such disarray. She glanced down to where Denethor was looking, and saw that her bare feet were once again visible. She blushed harder. "Well," she said, backing up a few steps. "I will not keep you any longer, my lord."

She turned and dashed out of the room, nearly covering her face with her hands for her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Somehow that soon-to-be-steward brought out the most humiliating aspects of herself. She couldn't seem to stop making an absolute buffoon out of herself in front of him. She couldn't stand it.

She rounded a corner, and pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, and found it burning. She leaned against the wall, eyes wide and realizing that this little plan she had of making Denethor fall in love with her might not work after all. After all, how could any man like him fall in love with a woman like her? A woman who hated shoes, preferred to swim over anything else, can cuss better than a sailor, and… she shook her head rapidly.

No… she would just have to forget this little scheme of her's. Denethor could marry anyone he wishes, there's no point trying to make him want _her,_ when there's no chance he ever will.

* * *

"My dear, why did you not wear your new tiara?"

Finduilas grimaced, before turning to face her mother, who was gazing at her shrewdly. "I forgot," Finduilas said, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could. She had, in fact, _not_ forgotten. Her tiara, only to be used for very special occasions, was purposefully left in her apartments. There was no need for it, she had reminded herself. She was no longer trying to gain the attention of the future steward. Leave that to Ivriniel.

Her mother was fanning herself, somehow still unused to the heat of the South even after all these years. "My dear…" she said, and Finduilas fought back another grimace, knowing that a scolding was soon to come. "How are you to find yourself a husband if you don't put a little effort into presentation?"

Finduilas opened her mouth to respond, before a few bells were rung, and both she and her mother turned and saw the party from Minas Tirith enter the ballroom. Thankful for the chance to get away while her mother was distracted, Finduilas quickly slipped past her mother and blended into the crowd, hoping to escape both the scrutiny of her mother and Denethor.

It was not that she was unseemly looking. She looked decent enough—though admitted not quite of her station. But she had valid reasons for such. Tonight would be an excellent night for swimming—and if she timed it right, she should be able to slip away without anyone noticing. Her mother should be thanking her, truly. What would have happened if she had lost the damn tiara on the beach in the middle of the night?

Finduilas sighed, walking near to where a few of Denethor's men were now standing and drinking wine, chatting enthusiastically to each other, and giving Finduilas the distinct impression of her mother's pet monkey. As she drew nearer, they quieted, and Finduilas got the nasty suspicion that they were talking about her. "Good 'Eve," she said, curtsying. The two men bowed. Finduilas glanced to the side, before walking past the two men, her neck prickling as she felt them watching her as she left.

Well, that was no surprise, she thought to herself dismally. Their master told them plain and simple that she was unsuitable to be a wife. She was just to the end of the ballroom, where the doors that led to the kitchens would give her respite and hopefully a chance for a good swim, when she found her arm clenched in an iron grip. "Where are you going, dear?" her mother whispered with an air of forced calmness. "Not leaving already?"

"I was just getting a bit of air—" Finduilas found herself being dragged back into the fray of dancers, courtiers and bystanders, and her mother did not let go until they were nearly upon the Stewards company. Finduilas rubbed her arm dejectedly, staring down at her dancing slippers, as she listened to Denethor and her father and brother discuss something that was of no interest to her and could not hold her attention.

Feeling something—or someone—watching her, she glanced up to see Denethor looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. When their eyes met, however, he returned his gaze to her father. Finduilas decided that he must have been looking at Ivriniel, who was standing next to her, or the Lady Nadei, who stood on her left. Or if he _was looking_ at her, he must be doing so in disdain. Perhaps she had a stain on her dress… or… some food on her mouth…

"Oh!" her mother said, excitedly, as the music began to play, "What a _wonderful_ song—and what a lovely dance to go with it. Do you dance, My Lord? Oh, you must dance the next dance!" she said, beaming at Denethor, "Why, Ivriniel is quite accomplished at dancing—she would make a wonderful partner, if I do say so."

Denethor looked at Ivriniel, who stood there, clearly trying not to look too eager. Even Lady Nadei was preening, trying to look desirable. Finduilas let out an exasperated sigh under her breath, and was just turning away, to make her leave, when Denethor spoke. "Actually, Lady Evinwen, I would like my partner for this next dance to be Lady Finduilas."

Finduilas froze mid-step, before turning to look at him, horrified. Her mother frowned, looking slightly worried, while both Lady Nadei and Ivriniel looked shocked and put out. "Me?" Finduilas asked, also shocked.

"I'm afraid Finduilas is not quite as… accomplished of a dancer as her sister," their mother said, beginning to fan herself, a clear sign of growing anxiety. "She's not… as graceful."

Finduilas' cheeks burned. It was all true, of course. When it came to traditional dances and especially partnered dancing, Finduilas found she always had two left feet. That was not to say she could not dance _at all_ , but these formal, stuffy, old dances always made her so nervous she almost never failed to step on her partner's foot. But that did not mean her mother had to _publicly tell this man in front of her._

Denethor looked not a wit surprised or put off by this information. "I'm sure I can make up for her lack of… grace," he said, bowing to Finduilas and offering his arm.

Finduilas narrowed her eyes at his choice of words, not making a move. Her mother jerked her head in Denethor's direction, giving her a deathly glare. Finduilas, realizing that there was nothing else for it, stepped forward and took Denethor's arm, letting him lead her to the center of the ballroom.

* * *

 **To be continued…?**

 **Thanks for reading! So sorry for the long hiatus, let me know if you're interested in reading more of this story! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

As Finduilas got into line with the other ladies, she felt her own growing anxiety mirror her mother's. She bit her lip slightly, keeping her eyes on Denethor's feet. She would not— _could not-_ step on them. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrible a dancer she was.

She could not give him the satisfaction of know how clumsy she could be when anxious.

The dance began, and Finduilas stepped forward, taking Denethor's offered hand with what she hoped was the grace befitting a woman of her station. They began to circle each other, as couples around them did.

"Thank you," he said, a little stiffly, "For accepting my invitation to dance."

"The pleasure is all mine," she said. "Though I believe you may regret your choice to not dance with Ivriniel. She is… as my mother said, the more graceful dancer of the two of us."

Denethor raised an eyebrow, before wincing. Finduilas' eyes widened, as she realized she had already done the worst. She had stepped on the man's boot. She quickly made to step away, but Denethor pulled her closer. "It's best to finish the dance," he muttered.

She nodded, her face burning with humiliation. When they separated, and Finduilas was passed to a different man, while Denethor took that man's partner, Finduilas breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled at the man currently holding her hands—another man from Minas Tirith—and she smiled kindly back at her. Thankfully, she did not tread on this man's feet, and instead performed rather well, until she was passed back into the arms of Denethor.

"So," Finduilas said, wishing the break the silence between them. "What was the reason for your visit to Dol Amroth? I'm afraid I seemed to have missed the…explanation."

Denethor shifted slightly as they twirled around each other. He winced as she lightly trod on his boot again, before speaking before she could apologize, "Respite," he said. "My father wishes for me to find some rest away from the war and from my obligations in the city."

"Ah," she said, nodding her head serenely. "Well, the sea is certainly the place to do such."

They danced again in silence.

"You had no other reasons for the visit?" she asked, "Other than respite from obligations?"

Denethor gazed down at her, before shaking his head. "Non, Milady."

She nodded her eyes again, and they danced in silence. Then she spoke, "I am curious—to change the subject, of course—how a man of your station and age has not yet found himself a wife, or at least, a betrothed."

At his surprised look, she added, "If it is not too bold of me to ask."

"I suppose not," he said, slowly. "I have been busy with the war."

She gave a small snort, and at his peculiar look, she said, "So you have no plans to find a wife?"

"Why?" he asked. "You seem rather curious about my marital status, My Lady. Did you have someone in mind for the role of my wife?"

"Well," she said, with a non-committal shrug. "There's always my sister."

She could tell that Denethor fought the urge to grimace at her words. But, besides a twitch of his right eye, he stayed passive enough not to show insult.

"And Lady Nadei," Finduilas continued, making a show of thinking deeply. "Of course, there's my cousins as well, and many other ladies in Gondor who could fill those shoes well."

"And yourself?" Denethor asked, as the dance slowed to a stop. "You seem to be making an effort not to include yourself in this list."

"Oh no," she said, as she curtsied to him as he bowed to her, once the dance was finished. "I'm afraid I would be completely unsuitable to be your wife." Then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, "I'm far too… _indecorous_ , to be a steward's wife."

She got a satisfying glimpse of utter shock on his face, as she turned and walked away from him.

* * *

She had not _quite_ planned this part through, she had to admit to herself, as she walked, sopping wet, dress in hand, up the dark staircase.

The ball had ended about an hour ago, but there were still drunkards roaming about, servants and guests alike. It was still dark, and she hoped she would get the chance to get back to her chambers without being spotted or recognized.

She had just passed the guest wing, and was about to ascend the steps to her family wing, when she spotted a man heading up the steps behind her and in her direction. She quickly drew away, slipping past the archway that led to the guest wing and waited with baited breath as the man paused, sitting down heavily on the steps, and… just… sitting there.

She waited, and waited—but he did not move. Finally, realizing that she would not be able to get back to her bedchamber without being seen by this man, she turned and headed against her better judgment into the guest wing.

When she reached the room that was her usual escape route to and from the beach, she hesitated, wondering if she dared. A light was on inside, and so Denethor had to be awake. She lifted her hand, ready to knock quietly, but paused. What if he wasn't alone? What if there was someone inside with him? And besides, she was practically naked—in nothing but a wet shift and carrying her dress that she daren't get too damp. And she was a woman knocking on a man's door passed midnight to boot. What anyone—what _Denethor—_ would say was beyond her.

She bit her lip, wishing she had the foresight to be better prepared. She should have brought a change of clothes—or—or a cloth to dry herself. She cursed herself, and was just about to leave when her knuckles brushed against the door, causing a light knocking sound.

She froze, her heart racing, as she heard footsteps, then the door opened and light streamed out into the hallway, illuminating her.

Denethor stood in the doorway, gazing down at her with shock evident on his face. "Lady Fi—" he began, but she heard the door creak across the hall, and, panic rising in her, placed a hand on Denethor's bare chest and pushed him backwards into the room, following quickly and closing the door behind her with a _click._

* * *

 **To be continued…**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **This chapter is super short so I decided to post it early :)**

 **See you soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

Finduilas shut the door behind her, and breathed a soft sigh of relief. She was safe. Whoever that was, they didn't see her—and—

She quickly realized that Denethor was gazing at her, his eyes wide in what she hoped wasn't anger. "What are you—" he began.

"Shh…!" she whispered, putting a finger to his lips. She turned her head to listen for the door to close in the hall and whoever it was to return to their bed. When she heard the quiet click of a door closing from beyond Denethor's own door, she sighed again with relief.

She turned to look back at Denethor, who seemed unable to decide whether to glare at her or stare at her in incredulity. "Oh," she said, removing her finger from his lips quickly as if burned. "I… I am sorry, My Lord… this is… not what it…" It was in this moment that Finduilas became fully aware of Denethor's bare chest. She was not a stranger to such things, as many fishermen or workers at the docks would remove their shirts in the heat of summer. She was not sure _why_ this felt different. Or why she could not tear her eyes away from him.

"Looks like?" he finished. His gaze moved downwards for a moment, at her body, which, she just remembered, was clad in nothing but a sheer and ocean soaked underdress.

Finduilas' eyes widened, her eyes springing to his in indignation as she clutched her gown closer to her to block his gaze from her poorly clad body. "Avert your eyes, Sir!" she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is this what you meant when you told me earlier that you were too… _indecorous,_ for me to consider for a wife?"

"You know exactly what I meant by it," she snapped back quietly. "My Lord, I only came to your chambers because it was the only way to escape to my own without being spotted by drunkards or other strange men roaming the palace. Unless you should want me to be found by a man less _honorable_ than yourself at this time of night, wearing nothing but—"

"Alright," he said, putting his hand up to silence her. "But what do you mean, to your chambers?"

She blinked in surprise. "My bedchambers is just above his one," she said, inching around him and walking backwards away from him towards the balcony doors.

"Do you intend to tell me," he said, his mouth falling open slightly in shock. "That you plan to _climb_ to your chambers?"

She nodded, fumbling with the handle to the doors to the balcony, before opening them. She slipped past them, and was just about to close the door when Denethor stepped up quickly, grabbing the door with his hand and causing Finduilas to freeze.

He joined her on the balcony, gazing up to where they both could see her own balcony nearly directly above them. "You climbed _that?"_ he asked, staring at her, eyes wide. "You're telling me that you're intending to climb this… I hardly see how this terrace could even hold your weight."

"It could hold your weight, which I'm sure would be the quite the feat," she replied, feeling slightly irritable. "And yes, I do intend to."

"So…" he began, looking up at the terrace, then back to her with a look of almost respect. "This is how you got into my bedchamber the other morning."

"Yes," she said, nodding firmly. "And if you will excuse me, I plan to return to my own bedchamber as soon as possible."

She hoisted her dress over her shoulder, before taking ahold of the first hand hold, and began to climb. She did not get very far. She let out a small, quiet yelp of surprise as a set of large, strong hands grasped her firmly by the middle and drew her back down, plopping her hard on her feet on the balcony. "What—?"

"I can't let you climb that, not at this time of night," Denethor said, giving her a peculiar look. "If you fell to your death, it would be on my conscious."

"Oh, would it?" she asked, gently removing his hands from her waist. "I daresay I find that hard to believe."

He exhaled hard through his nose, and opened his mouth to rebuff her, but she continued on. "Unless you are suggesting that I stay _in your bedchamber_ for the night, but I'm quite sure I'm the least of your desires." She placed her hands on her hips, looking up at the tall terrace and thinking. "You are right though, it is hard to climb with this," she held out her dress, full of frills and ruffles and many layers, "I might very well fall to my death… Perhaps I can leave it here, in your chambers, and come for it in the morning before the servants come to tend to you?"

Denethor blinked, before glancing at her dress. He looked back at her with a raised brow. "And if you forgot to collect it in the morning?" he asked. "And the servants did see it? Everyone will recognize the dress Princess Finduilas wore to this evening's ball. You realize the implications, do you not?"

Finduilas felt a blush creep over her cheeks. "I do," she said. "I assure you, My Lord, I will fetch the dress before anyone else wakes. And… no one will suspect anything."

He nodded slowly. "Since you seem to be determined to climb, and I do not wish to have your death on my conscious, I suppose I'll _have_ to take the dress," he said, as she handed it to him.

She began to climb once again. Once she was a ways up, she glanced down to see Denethor gazing up at her with concern on his face. Indeed, she though, if she did get injured, or Valar forbid, fall to her death, while _Denethor_ was present, it _may just_ cause a scandal to shake Gondor to its roots.

"I'm alright!" she said, as she reached for the last hand hold. "I do this almost every night—" she let out a small, stifled shriek as the stone that was her usual hold tore loose from the wall, and she scrambled to grab another hold.

Below on the balcony, Denethor made a startled noise of surprise, before calling up, "Are you alright?"

"I…" her eyes were squeezed shut. "I'm fine," she whispered to herself. But she could not move—not without falling. "I… I think I'm stuck," she called down to him, and heard him swear loudly.

"I'll climb up to you," he said, and she nodded, though she knew he could not see her do so.

The terrace that her feet were currently propped on shook slightly, as Denethor climbed up the wall quickly, and with much more agility than she would have expected.

He reached her quite quickly, through skill or desperation, she did not know or care to guess. "Open your eyes," he commanded, and she did so. "Here," he said, reaching out and adjusting his position. "Come here, Finduilas."

She nodded, inching over so she was nearly wedged between him and the wall. "I'm going to need you to stay calm," he said. "And I'm going to need you to climb up, using my shoulder to hoist you over the railing. Can you do that, Finduilas?"

She nodded. "Sorry!" she said, wincing as he grunted when her foot caught his ear, as she flipped herself over the balcony railing. She scrambled to her feet, reaching over and grabbed Denethor's hand, helping him up and over. They collapsed onto the floor of the balcony, both out of breath. Finduilas almost clutched at Denethor, wishing for nothing more in that moment than to buy her face in his neck and give a good cry. "Are you alright?" she panted, deciding against such behavior.

He nodded. He looked at her, and she was surprised that there was genuine concern in his eyes. "Are you?" he asked.

She nodded her reply.

"Good. You are a very, very foolish girl. But a fortunate one." He stood up, and she followed. It took them both a moment for their legs to stop shaking. He strode to the balcony edge, and looked down, before whistling. "I don't think I can make it down," he said. "And I'd rather not try at this time of night. I'll go down the normal way."

She nodded, and opened the doors to her chambers and they both walked inside. "My dress?" she asked, as she sank onto her bed, taking in a deep breath.

"Fetch it in the morning, preferably before the gossips find it," he said, looking around with curiosity. There was a fire in the fireplace, now just embers, and an oil lamp by her bed, emitting enough light for the both of them to see each other and their surroundings. "So…" she began, and he looked at her. He blinked a few times, before quickly averting his gaze. "You should… return to your chambers," she said, standing up and walking over the doors that led to the hall. "This way."

He followed her, and as she quickly opened up the door, and just as he began to slip out into the hall, they both froze as they heard a small, horrified gasp.

Finduilas and Denethor turned to see Ivriniel, clad in a night robe, holding a small oil lamp that cast a light upon all three of them.

* * *

 **To be continued…**

 **Uh-oh ;)**

 **(also sorry for being a bit MIA, I'll try to post the next chapter soon :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Finduilas froze, staring at her sister in open horror. She wasn't sure how Denethor was reacting, but she could feel as he took a sharp intake of breath behind her, and guessed he was as surprised as she was to see her sister here. Ivriniel, for her part, merely stood there, eyes wide as she stared back at them, her gaze shifting from Denethor to Finduilas.

Finally, Ivriniel moved. Before Finduilas could do or say anything, Ivriniel grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away from Denethor, so that the elder sister stood as a barricade between them. Brandishing the candle holder in her hand menacingly in Denethor direction, Finduilas saw with surprise the look of sheer rage on her older sister's face.

"What. Did. You. _Do_?" Ivriniel hissed through clenched teeth, her candle holder outstretched, as if ready to fling the burning candle and melting wax directly at Denethor's bare chest.

Denethor's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ivriniel beat him to it. "I _thought_ I heard strange noises coming from Finduilas' room—so I can to investigate…" Ivriniel heaved an furious breath. "How _dare_ you take advantage of my sister, Lord. You…you…" Ivriniel took a menacing step towards Denethor. He backed up slightly, his back hitting the door behind him—and Finduilas could not blame him. Ivriniel was glaring at him with pure ferocity. "Go back to your chambers, _Lord_. I _will_ speak to my father about this, and if you _ever_ so much as _look_ at Finduilas again I swear to the Valar I will—"

"'Vri," Finduilas protested, tugging on Ivriniel's robe. "It's not like that—he didn't do anything to me."

"There's no need to protect him, Finduilas," Ivriniel spat, still glaring at Denethor.

"If you let me explain—" Denethor began, but Ivriniel quickly cut him off.

"Must I remind you, _Lord,_ that this is my father's house—and as the eldest child of the Prince of Dol Amroth, I have _every right_ to not listen to your excuses." Ivriniel huffed angrily.

Denethor opened his mouth again, but Ivriniel quickly cut in, "Now, I suggest you return to your chambers, my _Lord_ ," the word sounded bitter and hateful on her elder sister's tongue. "And hope that I am in a more… _forgiving_ mood in the morning."

Finduilas glanced at her sister, knowing Ivriniel was infamous for holding grudges, and rarely forgave anyone for anything she considered even a minor insult. Denethor seemed to grasp this as well as he slid out of they way of Ivriniel and her threatening candle stick. He glanced at Finduilas for a moment, before turning and heading down towards the stairs that would lead to the guest wing.

Finduilas opened her mouth to clarify the situation, but found herself being pushed back into her room, and Ivriniel closed the door behind her, giving out a sound similar to a growl. She shoved the candle holder into Finduilas's hands, before she began to pace angrily. "How _dare_ he. I thought he was a man of good taste—"

" _Thanks,_ " Finduilas interjected, unable to not feel at least slightly insulted by her sister's words.

"I don't mean _you,"_ Ivriniel said, narrowing her eyes as she glared at the door. "I mean…he is not as…well mannered of a man I as I had originally thought him to be. Oh! I cannot stand the _nerve_ of him." Ivriniel was positively shaking in anger.

Ivriniel's back stiffened slightly, and she turned her head quickly to look at Finduilas. "He didn't…he didn't hurt you, did he? Force himself on you?"

"No!" Finduilas said, surprise that her sister had thought of such a thing. Thought of Denethor being _capable_ of such a thing. "No, he… he saved my life," she finished. "Really, 'Vri, he did save me."

Ivriniel narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly. "And what do you mean by that?"

"I mean…I was climbing the wall—and I got stuck—or… _something."_ Finduilas frowned, clasping her hands in front of her. "He climbed up to help me—I would have fallen to my _death_ if he hadn't…hadn't _rescued_ me."

Ivriniel blinked a few times, before shook her head. "And how did he know your life was in danger?" she asked.

"Well, he saw me climb up and—"

"Stop," Ivriniel put her hand up to silence Finduilas. "How did he see you—oh! Finduilas!" Ivriniel said, her eyes wide as realization seemed to dawn on her. "You didn't… _go through his room_ , did you? In— _that_ state?" Ivriniel gestured wildly to Finduilas' clothing, or lack thereof, at least in terms of proper clothing.

Finduilas looked down at herself, realizing she was just wearing her shift. "Oh," she said, a little sheepishly. "I went for an evening swim and—"

"Stop," Ivriniel said again, just as sharply as the first time, rubbing her temples with one hand. "Just…stop." She heaved a breath, before pointing at Finduilas. "I thought mother put an end to your…'nightly swims'."

"Well, it's not always at night—sometimes in the early morning—"

Ivriniel waved Finduilas' words away. "So let me get this straight—you went for an evening swim, and then snuck through _—the future Steward of Gondor's_ room… climbed the wall—and he climbed up to save you?"

"Yes, that's exactly what happened," Finduilas said, nodding fervently.

Ivriniel narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't explain the state of yourself," she said. "Where is your dress from this evening? Or a change of clothes if you had the sense to bring any with you?"

"Oh—I…left it…" Finduilas pointed downwards, indicating Denethor's room.

"Oh, Sweet Elbereth," Ivriniel muttered, sighing and staring up at the ceiling. "This is going to cause quite the scandal. Oh…why must I be cursed with such a foolish, idiotic, brainless—"

Finduilas could not help but roll her eyes at this.

"—hopeless, idiotic—"

"You already said idiotic—" Finduilas said, crossing her arms.

"— _don't_ interrupt me," Ivriniel said a little sharply as she pointed an accusing finger at Finduilas. "Finduilas, surely you know _why_ mother wanted you to stop sneaking out to swim at night?"

"It wasn't proper for a young lady to—" Finduilas said, imitating their mother's voice, before Ivriniel cut her off.

"It was _because_ she was frightened at what might happen to you," Ivriniel said, heaving a breath. "What if something _had_ happened to you? What if you drowned? What if you were attacked? What if—"

"Well, I was—attacked, that is, and it all turned out okay…I…guess," Finduilas said, with a touch of uncertainty, scratching her cheek slightly as she tried to see some silver lining of the night she had tried to sneak through Denethor's room that started this whole mess.

Ivriniel swung around to stare at her. "What did you just say? Who was it?" Ivriniel's voice rose slightly, an almost feral look on her face. "Tell me his name—and I will make sure he _suffers_."

Finduilas looked at her sister, before slowly looking away.

"It was _Denethor?"_ Ivriniel hissed, her voice positively quivering with anger. She grasped Finduilas' arms tightly. "It was that— _mongrel_ , that _immoral_ , that…"

"No," Finduilas said, quickly. "Denethor— _Lord_ Denethor just mistook me for an assassin or a thief. He didn't mean to—"

But Ivriniel was already rolling up the sleeves of her nightgown and robe. "What do you plan to do?" Finduilas asked, raising her eyebrows in concern.

"I—I don't know," Ivriniel said, placing her hands on her hips, a look of concentration on her face. "But I will certainly impress upon him the importance of keeping his hands to himself. And that the House of Dol Amroth will not tolerate such behavior from him. Though there's not much I can do short of treason…" She narrowed her eyes. "But I will try. Treason or no."

"You're taking this too far, 'Vri," Finduilas protested. "It was all an accident. He…I'm at fault as much as—"

"Don't defend him, Finduilas," Ivriniel said sharply. "I will take care of this—oh, and to think I thought _him_ handsome. I dare say his true nature extinguishes any admiration I may have once had for him." She huffed an angry breath.

"But, 'Vri…" Finduilas began.

"Rest, Findi," Ivriniel said, taking the candle from Finduilas. "As your elder sister, it is my duty to not only set a good example for you, but to protect you. _And_ defend your honor." Ivriniel looked at Finduilas with a harsh glance. " _No more nightly swims._ "

And with that, Ivriniel swept out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Finduilas sighed deeply, sitting down heavily onto her bed. She let out a groan, rubbing her forehead, and then fell back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. She heaved a breath.

This night ended in disaster, that was certain. And Ivriniel seemed now to be on a war path.

Finduilas changed into her night gown and slipping under her covers. She did not fall asleep until the early morning hours.

* * *

 ** _To be continued…?_**

 **Hi! It's been a while! Let me know if you want to read more of this story!**

 **Just a short chapter for now :) I've always had the headcanon that Ivriniel and Denethor never got along (though I also had the headcanon that she did not get along with a lot of people lol) , and that she was a constant thorn in Denethor's side haha so this should be fun :)**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


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